


Mr Sex

by ll_again



Series: Phases of Domestication [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, I accidentally did a fluff?, Light Bondage, Smut, weird ass roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-07 01:08:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12830079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ll_again/pseuds/ll_again
Summary: Jim doesn't ask her what she likes or what she needs; it's not necessary. But he asks her what she wants.





	Mr Sex

The first time Jim fucks her, he's Jim-from-IT, and it's really quite awful. He's clumsy and over-eager, slams his dick uncomfortably against her cervix and finishes just as she's trembling on the edge, then leaves her to fumble her fingers over her clit to find her own release. Sherlock's handy – although ultimately misinformed – observation gives her an excuse, but Molly'd already made up her mind not to invite him back into her bed.

(It takes Molly nearly a year to appreciate the artistry of his choices, the dedication he'd had for his chosen persona. It takes her a lot longer to forgive him for holding to it so well.)

"I want to tie you up," he says three months later, standing opposite her in a lavish bedroom in a lavish Chelsea flat. Both of them still fully clothed, and Molly's lips swollen and throbbing from the events that led them there. "Is that okay?"

She jerks her head, hesitantly, and he clicks his tongue. "You have to say it."

Her eyes flick towards the large bed, layered with sheets and pillows and a fluffy duvet, framed by a sturdy, iron headboard and footboard. "Yeah." Molly licks her dry lips. "You can tie me up."

"If you say 'stop', I will," Jim says while he unbuttons her blouse. He pushes her shirt off her shoulder, along with the strap of her bra, leans in and sniffs the skin where her neck curves into her collar. Tilts his head up so that his lips brush against her earlobe and says, "But you have to say it."

Molly holds herself still, lets Jim undress her without any resistance or assistance. Only her chest moves, rising and falling with each heavy breath. "What do I say if I _don't_ want you to stop?"

Jim picks up her hand, flicks open the cuff button before drawing his forefinger down into the hollow of her palm. "For that," he says, lifting his eyes as Molly lowers her own, both dark sets meeting in the middle, "you have to trust me."

The second time Jim fucks her, she's bound hand and foot with lengths of silk soft enough not to chafe but strong enough not to break as she strains against them. He doesn't leave an inch of her untouched, sweeping his tongue over every patch of bared skin, ignoring her pleas. There's only one he's promised to mind, and that's the one she won't voice.

Eventually, he makes it to her thighs, licks them clean before he fucks her with his tongue. Fills her with his cock just when Molly thinks she can't stand another second without him. When her orgasm hits, it registers on the Richter scale.

Then, Jim loosens her bonds, flips them around so he's sitting against the headboard with her in his lap, riding him. He tucks his face into her shoulder when he comes, and Molly doesn't even realize it's happened until he lets her know he's done.

They clean up, but Jim leaves the ties knotted to the bed frame. "For later," he says when he notices her looking, one corner of his mouth curving upward in a purely villainous smile.

…

It's months after that when he's got her pinned face-down on the bed, sweaty and not quite sated, when Jim leans in close, breath wafting against her temple, and says, "What do you want?"

She pushes back against him, whining low in her throat.

He gathers her damp hair into his fist, pulling it taut. His hipbones press hard against the fleshy globes of her bum. "There's some filthy thing, I know there is," Jim purrs. "So what's it to be? Want to tie me to the bed and sit on my face? Strap on a pretty, glittery cock of your own and _fuck me_?"

The last two words are hissed through gritted teeth as Jim slides his hard length into her slick channel. Molly wails in delight and clenches around him.

"But. You. Have. To. Say. It," Jim pants between thrusts.

"There is something," Molly says after, propping her chin on her arms. Jim, still draped over her back, grunts into her shoulder. His fingers curl into the curve at her waist, flexing absently while Molly spells out a fantasy she's never dared speak out loud.

Jim digs his teeth into her skin, just shy of causing real pain. "Aren't you just full of surprises?" he murmurs. He flings himself onto his back and reaches over to gather Molly closer. "We'll need to get some things," he says, voice floating on the edge of sleep. "Safety first. I'll send Seb out in the morning."

Molly traces idle patterns on his skin, drawing out the chemical structure for anatoxin-a. "You don't think it's weird?"

She looks up in time to see Jim's mouth curve slightly upwards, although his eyes remain closed. "Molly-my-bell," his Irish lilt trips over the peaks and valleys of the pet name, "it's _bizarre_." He closes his hand over her fingers before she can switch to drawing latrotoxin. "Now go to sleep."

It's not hard to drift off like that, limbs tangled together, skin against skin.

…

With one notable exception, nothing about fucking Jim is hard. Molly gets used to the persistent, pleasant ache left by their activities. In the lab at work, she finds herself shifting in anticipation while her thighs burn hotly where they're pressed against the metal stool. When Sherlock finally deigns to comment, Molly only smiles and blithely changes the subject.

She gets used to speaking her mind. Making demands, when the occasion warrants. She gets used to surprises. Sometimes when she comes home, Dear Jim is waiting to have his wicked way with her. Sometimes it's Jim-from-IT, wanting a lesson in cunnilingus. Other times he's neither. Other times he's a little of both.

It's not too long before Molly gets used to his touch, his smell, his cock. The way he hides his face when he comes.

"I want something," she says one day as she walks into Jim's office in their Chelsea flat, dropping her bag on that large, overcompensating desk of his.

Jim, chin propped on his fist, doesn't look up from his laptop as he sings in falsetto, "You have to say it."

"I want to fuck you in that chair. And…" Molly pauses to take a breath. She hasn't been this nervous making a request since the very first, but for once she thinks he might actually say no.

Jim lifts his head to look at her, raises an eyebrow. "And?"

She licks her lips. "I want to see your face."

There's no need to elaborate, not with Jim. He doesn't respond at first, locking those fathomless black eyes on hers, as if he could see her pattering heartbeat in her pupils.

"Shut the door," he says finally.

It's been some time since Molly's been bothered about getting caught by Jim's minions, and she impatiently tells him as much.

"I said, shut the door." Jim's voice is like nothing she's ever heard from him before. For the first time, Molly thinks she's hearing the Moriarty who runs the world's deadliest criminal empire. Beneath the shrill of terror, it turns her on.

Without a word, Molly spins on her heel and closes the office door with a quiet snick. When she turns back, Jim is loosening his tie, still watching her with heavy-lidded eyes and mouth pressed into a tight line.

"Well?" he says. "Come here and fuck me then."

Feet heavy with promise, Molly obeys, skirting around the desk while Jim unbuttons his shirt cuffs. She makes quick work of her own clothes, dropping them carelessly to the floor, then squeezes into the gap to perch on the desk while she reaches forward to slide Jim's off, which he'd unfastened but left hanging loose.

There's a bit of wiggling while she gets situated, straddling him in his executive desk chair. Molly takes his cock in hand, smirks a little when he hisses in response, hips tilting towards her almost instinctively. But her smile drops away quickly.

"Is this okay?" she asks, seriously.

Mouth parted just slightly, Jim shakes his head in a quick side-to-side jerk. "You don't have to ask that."

And she doesn't. Because if he wants to stop he'll say; that's their arrangement, always.

Molly hooks her free hand at the back of Jim's neck and kisses him as she slides down onto him, slowly because she's been a bit overeager to get started, and she's not quite ready. Jim digs his fingers into her hips and breaks the kiss, panting.

"Molly," he groans like he's in pain. Jim talks during sex – sometimes he won't shut up – but never like this.

She stills. "Yeah?"

"Don't stop."

Breathing out shakily, she rises up and presses back down, more smoothly this time. "You don't have to say that, you know," Molly says, nipping lightly at his lips. "Trust me."

" _Fuck_." Jim's hips stutter as he drives up into her. His hands leave her hips and clamp on either side of her face while he fucks her with abandon. Molly just hangs on and lets him. "Look at me," is his harsh demand on the edge of his orgasm.

And she does. She can't tear her eyes away.

"Oh," Molly stutters, a tear slipping down her cheek. Because he's beautiful. Because there are three words there, etched into every fine, expressive line of his face. "Oh, Jamie."

Spent, he lets her go and slumps back into the chair. Molly settles on top of him, and Jim presses his forehead against her collarbone.

"You have to say it," she sing-songs lightly, carding her fingers through his hair.

"No I don't," Jim grumbles, hot breath wafting against her bared breast.

Molly giggles, lets him slide out of her, and sits back on his thighs, forcing him to lift his head again. "Perhaps," she says, rubbing a thumb over his eyebrow.

But he really doesn't, not now. The words themselves would just be redundant.

Jim fists his hand into her hair, tightly enough that the pull of it stings her scalp. His fingers shake in fine tremors, even as he says, perfectly evenly, "No. I don't."

Twisting her head in an attempt to ease his grip, Molly says, "Me too." Solely for the sake of clarity. In her past experience with terrifying geniuses, they can be remarkably obtuse about certain things.

Jaw slack, Jim flexes his fingers before releasing her altogether. "Lay down," he says, indicating his desk. "I've got some business with that pretty little pussy of yours."

Molly scrambles to obey, bracing her feet on the arms of Jim's chair so she's spread open before him. Jim dives in and licks away the mess he'd made between her legs, leaving her with several of her own.

Molly blasphemies about six gods before he's done. Loudly.

There's an unnaturally loud noise in the living area of the flat while she's still trying to catch her breath. Jim sits back in his chair, surveying his handiwork with some satisfaction while he daintily wipes his mouth. "Sebbie's home," he says. "Best get dressed, darling girl."

"Ungh," is all that Molly can manage.

Jim lifts up one of her legs so he can get out of his chair, but not before tilting forward to press a smacking kiss to her swollen lips.

"Oh, fine," Molly says, legs dangling uselessly off the edge of the desk. There's not much point in standing until they can support her again. "Hand me my clothes."

Her blouse and underthings land on her face, something they both know Jim will be paying for in full tonight. And that's obviously the reason he'd done it in the first place.

"I'm going for food," she says once she's clothed. "I expect you have to work."

Jim leans casually against his desk, also dressed except he's missing his tie and unbuttoned at the throat. It's almost enough to make Molly decide to forgo dinner.

"I _was_ rudely interrupted," he says, just a hint of a smile on his lips. He takes her shoulders in his hands and carefully presses a kiss to the apex of her cheekbone. "Take Seb," he rumbles, ducking his head for just a second. "Bring back wontons."

Molly doesn't ask how he knows she was thinking about Chinese, but rolls her eyes nonetheless. "Yes, dear."

"Molly-bell," Jim says before she can escape.

Molly spins around drawing the silk tie she's absconding with teasingly over her mouth before winking at him saucily. "For later," she says and darts out the door.

**Author's Note:**

> Anatoxin-a is also known as, I shit you not, Very Fast Death Factor. Latrotoxin is found in widow spider venom. They are both neurotoxins.
> 
> Yes, I researched neurotoxins while I was writing this smut. Gives it that Molliarty flair. =D


End file.
